


‘I am not the one going to war...’

by Sleepy_Writer



Category: The Queen's Thief - Megan Whalen Turner
Genre: Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Spoilers, post RotT
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:48:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 15,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28411158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sleepy_Writer/pseuds/Sleepy_Writer
Summary: He had meant it in jest... He had been meant to be as safe as the Queen he guarded... so why...?
Relationships: Attolia | Irene/Eugenides, Eddis | Helen/Sophos, Relius/Teleus (Queen's Thief)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

Relius had been nearly jubilant when the rumours of the victory over the Medes reached him. It didn’t even matter that he was still under proverbial house-arrest in the Pents’ greatest and most secure fortress. For a short while, it didn’t even matter that the rumour didn’t include any details as to who had – or had not for that matter – survived.

The rumour that Meleo the Gant had suppressed his southern neighbours had interested him. He knew for a fact that it might well mean that the Pents had to quickly and frantically reshuffle their allegiances. And now there was but one power they could turn to that was not the eternally hungry Mede-empire; the Hephestian Peninsula.

His suspicions were proven true when they send him south, along with a good collection of gifts and a new ambassador, this time a smarter one that Quedue.

He should have known something was wrong when the guards escorting them from the harbour up to the palace couldn’t look him in the eye.

He should have been afraid when seeing his monarchs again. There was happiness in their eyes, but then he saw dread… and he started to wonder exactly what had happened in the war.

“Out.” Attolia rose to her feet, eyes fixated on the guards at the main door. “Everyone out!”

They obeyed, as they always had, even when it had gone against their personal feelings. Even the ambassador was ushered out with assurances his statements would be heard later.

“My Queen?” Relius looked after them all, until the large doors closed and he was left only with the four sovereigns and a small collection of guards.

“Relius.” She sat down again. “I...”

“What happened here?” He looked at her and saw anguish in her eyes.

Sounis, blessed Sounis who never had wanted to be king and deal with this weight, took the burden from her. “Teleus is gone.” She flinched at the statement, eyes downcast to stare at her hands.

“What…?” Later, he would realize that this was why the room had been emptied; it would have been impossible to hide Teleus’ absence for any stretch of time and this way at least, his breaking would be private.

“He fell against the Medes.” Eddis, kind as the spring-rains on the flatlands, told him, her voice as soft and whispery as a breeze in summer. “There… there was an elephant-charge into the main encampment… Aimed at me and Attolia... He was among those that drove them away… He never came back from it.”

In short, he had done his duty. He had guarded Atollia – and Eddis, of course – and paid for it with his life.

“No.” Still, he couldn’t possibly believe it. He had gotten the lecture, the warning. He had been lost before the fighting had even begun. Why had he been allowed to return to Attolia then!?

“We did not find his body, but...”

Relius was a scholar. He knew how elephants were fielded, how they fought. There were enough records of Medean conquests elsewhere for that. They would gore men on their tusks – sometimes even horses, if they were unfortunate enough – and trample those that fell, leaving nothing but a bloody paste. He knew, rationally, that if one pitted a human or even several humans, against an elephant-charge… The humans were not likely to get back.

His legs, which had managed to carry him to the palace from the harbour, now gave out underneath him. He had known that the victory would not have come without a cost, perhaps even a dreadful, too high cost, but he had not truly realized it could mean Teleus.

Trembling, he tried to find support and purchase on the cold stone floor of the hall, too long fingernails scrapping over it. Why…? A strangled sound fell from his lips, chest constricting too much for more, too much even for a mere breath.

Something broke inside him when the though rose unbidden; ‘I took the poems’. He had taken the poems Teleus had written him, the Pents had taken them and had not returned them. He had lost even that. He wanted to scream, but could not.

If this was the price for his return, he did not want it.

“No...” Curling in on himself, he wondered if this was how Eugenides had felt all that time ago, when his hand had been taken and his purpose in life been ruined.

“No...” He probably had not sounded this pathetic even when imprisoned under this very castle. “Gods… no...”

‘I am not the one going to war.’ He had said too long ago now. It had been meant as jest, because for all that Teleus had gone to war, as Captian of the Queen’s Guard, he would not have fought unless all was as good as lost. He had not been meant to fight and would not have if not for a Medean elephant-charge straight at the one he was sworn to protect.

He was not aware of them having appeared around him, but he did feel the arms. Slender, gentle and so unlike the ones he had spend his favourite nights with.

Lungs filled with air and he managed a broken wail, four arms grounding him in the suffering of the here and now and the realization that he had lost something irretrievable. Three more hands were on his shoulders and back, precious little comfort at the feeling of his heart being torn like Teleus might well have been when he faced the elephants.

He clung to one of the arms in front of him, driving nails into the soft and unprotected flesh of one of the Queen’s. No one tried to make him budge, merely holding him tighter and keep him from shattering outright.

‘I am not the one going to war...’ He had lost the poems.


	2. Chapter 2

It was a good while later that he had calmed down enough to move, so Attolis had lead him by the arm through corridors that he later would not have remembered, almost gently depositing him in his rooms – they had not emptied those out yet?

The next morning found him still there, sitting almost destitute on the armchair he had always sat in together with the Guard Captain, eyes near-unseeing as they stared straight ahead.

Somewhere during that time between morning and noon, there was a hesitant knock on the door. Like trying to moving solid stone, it took Attolia’s former Spymaster everything to move his head to face the visitor. Pheris looked around the solid wood, peeking at him in worry.

“Ah…” He hoped he managed to form the smile right and that it didn’t look too much like a grimace. “I see you got through this alright…”

Pheris smiled weakly, pushing the door open further and briefly disappearing outside it. Slung over the shoulder above his good leg was a bag while he carefully carried a small amphora, both of which he deposited on the table in the center of the room. He pulled out a chunk of cheese and bread, as well as a knife.

“A hint?” Relius leaned back a bit. “Not right now… but I appreciate it.”

Once he had already believed that Teleus was dead, back when he had been in prison for his disastrous choice of lover. Then he had learned that the warrior had been spared…

He felt something against the hand not clutching the fabric of his outfit. Looking over he saw a piece of bread with a slice of cheese held on top of it by the youngster. Despite wondering what use there would even be in doing so, he automatically turned the hand to accept it.

“Perhaps you were right in mocking these adult going-ons.” It was more of a sharp inhale of breath than a chuckle, even as he ate under the young Erondites’ scrutiny. “This… It…” That was a chuckle, self-deprecating and ugly.

Pheris also looked sad, eyes fastened at some point on the far wall over Relius’ arms. Then he shook his head lightly, forming the words slowly with his hands so his erstwhile tutor could keep up even in his broken state. _‘_ _You never thought so before._ _’_

“I… never…” He indeed had not, but that had been before he knew how much it hurt to lose. His relationships had all been short and intense, meant for pleasure more than anything else. Then they had gotten the Thief of Eddis as a king and one of the many, many changes he had brought had been the transformation of two friends and confidants into something far closer and deeper. He hated him for that, right now. Why had he done this!? Why…!?

He only became aware of the new flood of tears when Pheris dabbed at them with a handkerchief, one hand on his erstwhile tutor’s for balance as he had to stretch and precariously balance on his good leg. He gently pushed him back into a more stable position, taking the piece of fabric himself. “This is not how our reunion should have gone, isn’t it?” He stared at the small amphora, rising with a grunt at his stiff muscles to get it for himself. “Wine?”

‘ _Without water.’_

“Well, at least they leave me that mercy.” Drink would numb the pain somewhat, he hoped. He managed to find one of his private glasses, a luxury he had afforded himself early on in his tenure as Spymaster. He filled one of them nearly to the brim, only briefly wondering what Pheris would drink, being far too young for undiluted wine.

For a time they sat in silence, Relius working himself through the amphora with disturbing speed and the King’s attendant sat on his chair at the table, watching him.

“So…” He knew nothing good would come of drowning himself in wine, not tonight and so he tried to draw his attention away from the pain through other means. “What were you up to…?” He pushed the closed amphora until it fell from the small table onto the other chair. “It must have hurt, hadn’t it? Hearing…”

‘ _I saw it._ _’_ Pheris watched the older man recoil. _‘I was with the Queens when the charge happened.’_ He shuddered at the memory of said charge; the Medes had driven practically all of their elephants in a wedge aimed at the Attolian encampment and though some have been diverted, about four or five had made it past the picket-line. He remembered the sounds of human panic and elephantian rage… and he remembered the look Teleus had thrown over his shoulder, first at the Queens and then at him; panic-filled and terrified. Then the Captian had gathered his wits about him, rallying those men still in the camp to beat back the grey beasts and what men had managed to pour in after them.

A desperate sally from the Eddisian reserves had in the end driven three elephants and a good number of men back to the Medean lines. Pheris and the Queens – upon their return to the position they had been in before the charge – had seen a terrible slaughter; men cut down and crushed. The full number of lost had been barely countable by the amount of squished breastplates. And even some of those had been crushed together. It was still not fully clear who all had been lost in that particular part of the war.

“He took you with him!?” The wine made the realization be sluggish, but the anger when it arrives was very much there.

‘ _I wanted to go.’_ It was a look of stubbornness that crossed the room between them. _‘It’s not important now.’_

“You…” Of course it was. They had taken a child to war! But in the same breath, he realized it was true. The war was over and done with and nothing more could be done about it. Those that had survived, had survived and those that had been lost… A mixture between a whine and moan tumbled from his lips. The brief relief that at least his young protegee had returned safe and sound immediately reminded him that his lover had not.

Gods… he should not have taken the poems.


	3. Chapter 3

They left him alone for a week, only briefly visiting him to deliver food and drink and see to him consume at least most of it. At the end of the week, there was a firmer knock on his door than any of his previous visitors.

“Yes?” He had been cleaning up a bit, rearranging the furniture to hide the chair someone else had been always sitting in.

“Sir?” Costis peeked in, before sliding in. “Do… do you have a moment?”

“Of course.” Relius sighed, managing to form a small smile as he offered a chair. He remembered how much Teleus had valued the younger guard. “What can I help you with?”

“Well...” Much like Teleus, the other soldier could not hide anything on his face. “I do hope it won’t… hurt you… but...”

“I am stronger than I look.” The former Spymaster assured him. “I take it, your reason for being here is… him?” He couldn’t say the name, for all that he was powering through the grief. It had taken him two days to realize that he could not fold under the pain. He remembered what Attolis had mentioned once, about how Attolia had loved both him and Teleus. She would not survive losing both of them.

Or well, she perhaps could, but he wouldn’t force her to find out. Not if he could help it.

“Yes.” Costis awkwardly looked down. “He…” He took a moment, taking a deep breath. “We… removed his personal effects from the Captain's quarters, but… well, apparently the only family he still has contact with...”

“Is his trader-brother?” Relius knew of the man, of course.

“Yes.” The taller man ducked his head a bit. “Not really the best to take on lots of stuff, even if he were in Attolia.” He awkwardly looked over at the older man. “Basically, we wondered if you would want some – or all – of his things?”

He shuddered at the question and at the finality it implied to his lover’s life. “I… yes… I would like that.” Closing his eyes briefly, he tried to keep from crying again. “Just… just bring it all here.”

If he had started crying again, the other didn’t acknowledge him, merely inclining his head lightly in assent. “I’ll have some people bring it here.”

“Who…?” It did raise another question to him. “Who did they… replace him with?”

“At the moment… Enkelis again.” Costis awkwardly stated, referring to that dreadful time where Relius had merely _believed_ Teleus dead. “I think… I think Her Majesty still has to come to terms with it all. Rumour has it he’s just a placeholder.” They both knew why; Enkelis simply could not replace his predecessor, either in the eyes of the people and the hearts of the guards themselves.

“I see.” The scholar was very grateful that the other man left shortly afterwards, leaving him to the fresh wave of grief which would certainly grow when the personal effects of his erstwhile lover had been delivered.

As Costis had stated, after a while some soldiers came, bearing two chests. Both were sizeable, of the size that traders would use for their merchandise. He gestured for them to put both to the side where there was some space in front of his walls.

For a time, he didn’t dare to actually do more than that, staring at the two new additions like they held bombs. In the end, when it was starting to become dark he did though, perhaps foolishly hoping that if it was darker it would hurt less.

It did not, because by some cruel twist of fate there was a pile of papers on top in the first chest he opened. It was neatly written and for a second he thought it might have been a report of some kind – though why that would up in the personal effects was a different question – but then he read it… and wept again. Teleus had started writing more poems for him, a part two to the collection he had lost. At least he had some now again.

It was almost exactly 6 months since that faithful day where elephants took the poem’s writer from him.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The Medes meanwhile were unaware of the emotional turmoil of Attolia’s Spymaster across the sea; almost as soon as word of the defeat had reached the imperial capital, the powerful propaganda-machine had gone into overdrive. After all, it could not be known that three backwater countries of illiterate barbarians had defeated the might of the greatest Empire of the world.

Ghasnuvidas had been infuriated when he realized that his army had been routed. Those of the ones in charge that returned suffered horrifying deaths; ostensibly because they had wasted lives even after the cowardly monarchs of the peninsula had destroyed their own countries just to deny the Medes any land… that was the official statement of the Empire; when it became clear that they could not win, the queens – proof again that women should not hold power – had ordered the destruction of their fields and cities, leaving nothing but useless rubble. At this point, the Generals should have just let the three kingdoms tear themselves apart in the following famine and civil wars. They had not, wasting valuable lives.

As for the soldiers who knew better, they were send to the far southern border, where the heat and desert droughts often decimated entire army-forts. Being assigned there was quite frankly a death-sentence with a nicer front.

Frustrated by the loss of a large part of his army – and his back-up heir, no matter how out of favour – this left the ailing Emperor with a lot of anger and very little targets he could lash out at. The army would have to be rebuild before another attack against anyone could occur.

He did find some comfort with the last gift Bu-seneth had send him, even if it forced him out of his palace to the large amphitheatre that was one of the wonders of Medean architecture. The royal box had always been closed off by thin fabric to keep unworthies from seeing the imperial family-members when they were present and to keep dust from reaching them.

The old man leaned forward with a soft grunt, looking down at the gladiator fighting one of the lions captured for this sole purpose. Outside the box, the plebeians were cheering, though it was anyone’s guess if it was for the lion or the gladiator.


	4. Chapter 4

The lion died, in the end, because of course he did. Perhaps one day, when Ghasnuvidas tired of watching this, he would send the gladiator back to Attolia… with his royal compliments about how well the Guard Captain had been chosen… assuming said captain was still recognizable as such.

For all that he was furious with Bu-seneth for having so utterly failed to use the advantages he had had, he could appreciate this gift.

The gladiator below staggered back from the dead beast, short sword bloody.

“ **Have them release another.** **”** Ghasnuvidas gestured to his own secretary, a young man that had served him for nigh on two decades by now.

“ **Yes, master.** **”** The slave briefly disappeared out of the imperial box, returning within moments. Outside, the crowd was going wild, celebrating the victory. At least he was keeping them all entertained.

The old Emperor smiled, seeing the elaborate elevator-system raise another beast into the arena. Almost in answer to his smile, the gladiator threw a glare at the box, knowing full well why he had to do a second round. But he had little choice but to do it, because like all animals that were used in gladiator-fights, it had been wounded so that it’d go wild with pained anger.

Attolia’s captain, already tired from the first big cat, failed to dodge the jump, both falling to the ground in a tangle. The Medean emperor figured he had to be quite happy that they had him fight in the Attolian uniform he had been captured in, which included bracers. Meaning the panther’s teeth were tearing at the metal around the forearm, rather than the forearm itself.

“ **Remind me to commend Attolia on her capta** **i** **n if I ever send him back.** **”** Ghasnuvidas stated softly, watching as said captain managed to break the cat’s neck with his bare hands. He grinned a touch when seeing that the man couldn’t stand, a large cut on his left thigh. He briefly was tempted to order another, just to see if he could survive that, but the people would probably not enjoy it to the same extend.

Down below, two other gladiators carried the Attolian out of the arena, letting the games progress.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Teleus groaned when they lowered him on the bed, the gladiator-physician moving after them to attend his wound. For all that he was a play-toy for the Emperor, they still considered him a gladiator. Which meant that he was an investment, worth the money people paid for entry to see him.

He hissed, silently bemoaning that he wasn’t the type to bribe the physician to give him painkillers. For some reason, probably mockery of his origin, he even got paid like a gladiator. Most of them either used the money to save up for their freedom or to spend on luxuries, like painkillers when they were being treated.

He used most of the money for another gladiator-‘perk’. Groaning, he looked at the wound on his leg, neatly cleaned and stitched, and still covered in blood. He’d have to clean that, but also sincerely doubted he’d be able to move much. Just he could do little but wait, hating himself for enduring. For all that the Emperor had misjudged how the war with the Hephestian Peninsula would go, he had proven to be quite correct about his only high-ranked prisoner. To ensure that the former guard captain cooperated, he had threatened – and made good on that threat once – that every time he refused to fight, two dozen random people would be fed to the beasts as entertainment instead. As someone whose long-time job-description had included ‘protect the innocent’, that was not something he could condone, even if it meant that his afterlife-reunion with Relius had to wait until the Medes tired of him.

He looked over when the door opened, one of the many slave-girls slipping inside with a tray of food. There was his ‘perk’… and he hated it. Not the girl herself, of course, but the why of her presence.

Gladiators who had given good shows were rewarded with visits of girls. For practically all gladiators, that meant sex… even if the girl in question was not willing. It had taken him three visits before the girls stopped trying to convince him and just accept that the closest they’d get is muscle-massages – they were quite good at those as well.

“ **Bath?”** She pointed at his bloody leg as he regretted not having kept up with his Mede-vocabulary. Most of the words he remembered where those related to war and fighting, leaving his skills for regular conversation rather lacking.

“ **Yes, please.”** Reaching for the purse he kept his earnings in, he threw a coin at her. From what he gathered, he was one of few that’d give money to ‘his’ girl, never mind that he had seen several dozen at this point.


	5. Chapter 5

She cleaned him well, taking care to use as little of his water-stipend as possible. After that, she brought over the food. Like always, it was simple but nutritious fare, this time grain-gruel with beans and some cheese. Somehow, and he suspected she had used an earlier payment he had paid her for it, there was even a fresh fruit, rightly considered a luxury for gladiators.

He did eat it, having little choice but to even he wanted to be recovered enough by his next match. Another thing he had noticed was that most gladiators only got the bare minimum of recovery-time from injuries and he just had to hope they’d at least afford him that much.

“ **Can I ask you?”** Everyone had quickly learned he knew precious little Mede, but only the girls and one or two gladiators bothered with dumbing down their speech enough for him to easily follow.

“ **Speak.** **”** He had to be rough with them, sometimes even keeping his tone snarling, just to make sure that no one thought there was any favouritism. Girls that became favourites of those fighting often ended up having roles in the stories the matches were supposed to act out… fatal roles.

“ **There is new girl.** **”** She sat beside his bed, as they all did between their duty having been done and the door being opened for them to leave. **“Clean girl...”**

Oh, he didn’t like the implications of that being brought up. From what he gathered, they had the choice of gladiator, as long as all who had earned it had one girl… and bringing up a specific girl...

“ **Could you...?”** She quickly looked over her shoulder at the door, skittish at what she was doing and the trouble it might cause if they found out. It could dangerously be interpreted as ‘favouritism’ if the wrong people heard.

He might have forever preferred being alone if not with Relius, but he could understand why they’d come to him with this. His simple abstinence marked him out as someone who cared.

“ **Yes.”** Her weak and hesitant smile made it worth it. **“Send her next.”**

She nodded lightly, getting comfortable in the position she had taken every time.

Resting back down on the bed, he silently wondered how Relius would have found this. Probably have called him a bleeding heart… He made a face while staring out of the window above his bed. Night was finally falling and soon the door would open for the girl, leaving him alone with his regrets.

Once again, he wondered if he’d be feeling better or worse about the entire situation if Relius were waiting for him in Attolia. Probably worse… at least now, the closest to a loved one that’d be mourning him was his brother and they had ceased a good while ago to being truly close to one another. The price of someone being elsewhere for large parts of the year, trading all across the Middle Sea. Would he even have learned already that his younger brother was ‘dead’? It did usually take him a while to dock in an Attolian port again, so it might well be that he was still completely unaware of it all.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The day after he had received the boxes, Relius fled the palace. He needed to get away from all the memories for a bit. The problem here being that the palace was filled with them; almost every place he had at least once seen Teleus. The entire place was just filled with Teleus. It hurt.

So he was walking through the city, looking for a bookbinder. He was carrying a map with barely a dozen papers inside it; all the poems he had left of the Guard Captian. Unlike the previous collection, he wanted to make sure that these would be protected. Even if that meant asking someone to bookbind a mere dozen papers together.

Finally finding a good place, he arranged for a proper leather binding, even if it meant getting some really strange looks.

Having finished that, he wandered through the city blindly, letting his feet take him wherever, as long as it was not the palace. Clinging to his cloak, he found his feet drawn up the Sacred Way, heading to the temples there.

An hour later, he rose from his devotion at Philia’s altar, having prayed for a merciful rest for his lover’s soul in the afterlife.

“I must apologize to you.” The voice that greeted him when he left the temple honestly didn’t even surprise him. For all intents and purposes, the person looked like an ordinary traveller, cloaked against the dust of the road… but he knew his King when he saw him. Even if the king somehow had managed to ditch all attendants and guards… again. The memory of Teleus’ complaints about it tore at his heart.

“Why?” Relius looked at the darker-skinned male as he lead the way down the road and back into the city again. “He did his duty, no one forced him to face those elephants.”

“The charge was over me, though.” Eugenides whispered, leading the way onto one of the public parks. “I managed to wound Nahusereph and he later outright told me they performed the charge because of that. An attempt to getting royal blood for having spilled imperial blood.” He took a deep breath. “And yes, no one does blame me for that, but I feel responsible regardless. I am sorry, Relius.”

“There is nothing to forgive, my King.” The former Spymaster whispered, looking sadly at the other man. “Not from you. Even if I did blame you… you avenged him. You won the war… Nothing more can be asked for.”


	6. Chapter 6

Irene was looking outside, looking down at the three elephants she now called her own. Despite what they had taken from her, she had obliged the earlier idle wish of her husband to have some.

The sight of them still pained her, even though she knew that the chance it had been one of these that took Teleus was rather small. Still…

“We can just… sell them or something.” Eugenides’ voice floated over, his hand coming to rest on her hip. “We don’t need to keep them if they upset you too much.”

“I know.” She looked over at him. “I’ll get over it.”

“Love...” The Annux of the Peninsula murmured, pulling her closer.

“Trust me, Gen.” She chuckled weakly. “Just give me a couple months and it’ll be fine.” She reached to wrap her arm around him. “Besides, if we sell them, what will I use to brag when foreign ambassadors visit.”

He echoed her chuckle, pressing a gentle kiss against her cheek. “If you are certain.”

“I do have the brains in our relationship.” She actually managed to laugh at the look he gave her.

“Oh, you do, do you?” He glared playfully at her. “May I remind you who has all the sneaky plans in this castle?”

“My plans don’t involve myself getting beaten up… regularly.” She countered, poking him in the chest. “How many of yours did that by now?”

“Oh for...” He groaned. “Not that many!”

“Hamiathes’ gift, Costis, that darn Trail-thing...” She started counting on her fingers, but getting no further when he used his hand to grab hers.

“This is bullying.”

“You do not want me to answer that.” She smiled at him, knowing he had been goading her into this so she’d – if even only briefly – forget her grief. She did love him for that.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Relius returned to his role as Pheris’ tutor, now also having to teach him how to manage one of the largest baronies of the country, even with Dite nominally owning part of the Erondites’ lands as well now.

He liked it, focusing solely on it and pointedly trying to ignore how empty both his rooms and heart felt whenever the young attendant left him for the night.

Despite knowing full well that Teleus would not mind him taking a lover – he had never minded any of the others, save one – he could not bring himself to invite anyone into his bedchamber.

On his public appearances he socialized as always, being perhaps only a bit quieter than before this all, but unlike what he used to, none staid the night. He couldn’t… simply couldn’t. Despite having been more than able to take another in his bed when Teleus had been just on the other side of the complex, he could not take one now that the Guard Captain was gone.

It made one wonder if it could be considered pathetic, how hard he had fallen over a relationship that had lasted a bare few years – at least the romantic part.

Perhaps it was the fact that he was slowly making his way through the two chests with Teleus’ possessions, reawakening his grief whenever he opened them. Some he got rid off, simply because he had no use for them, while some he kept simply for nostalgia’s sake.

He trailed his fingers down the fine embroidery of one of Teleus’ formal outfits, the deep-red tunic hanging from his closet-door. It had been his favourite outfit to see the other man in, feeling it made him look like a god. Teleus had considered him mad when he admitted to it, but he had seen the almost-adorable blush on the warrior's cheeks at the compliment. Would anyone believe him if he brought it up? Most likely not.

His head dropped against the rich fabric, dreading the day would stop smelling like the guard, leaving only the poems.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

In the end, they did barely give him enough time to recover. He was pretty certain the claw-marks had healed enough that they probably wouldn’t reopen again, but he could not move without pain.

At least this match was against another gladiator, who were more considerate than wild animals. Both of them weren’t truly holding back, but at least the other was being the more mobile fighter, allowing Teleus to remain mostly in a comfortable – or as comfortable as he could get – position that let him move the leg as little as possible.

Sometimes he honestly wondered how insane people were to consider this the epitome of society.

As soon as he was out of the arena, he collapsed against the wall, groaning in agony. Oh, he’d have choice words for all Medes, but the guards could get almost more violent than the animals.

“ **Thank...”** Attolia’s former Guard Captian breathed when his opponent helped him get back to the gladiator-holds, walking slowly enough that he could hobble along. Sometimes, sometimes he just wanted to get himself killed in the arena. He had enough experience in fighting to avert injury – for the most part – so it shouldn’t be too hard to turn that experience into gaining a lethal wound, surely?

But he did not want to imagine what they would do his body… what Ghasnuvidas would in retaliation if he died against his will. He had after all, in the beginning, threatened to send his mutilated body to Attolia… his living, mutilated body. Gods knew what he’d do if that body was already dead. Send it back in true pieces like a gruesome puzzle? Probably, from what he had heard about the Mede Empire. They did perform a slaughter every time a noble died, after all.

He really wished the spy-network had already recovered so there was a chance Attolia could learn of his fate, but he was certain that it’d still take years to reinsert any people into the Empire… by that time, if he were even alive, he would well have been rendered completely unrecognisable. It was sheer luck that he had dodged grievous scarring until now.


	7. Chapter 7

He should have know… by all the gods, he should have known. But he hadn’t and now they were all paying the price for it. He should have realized that after months of not even looking at any of the girls like that, the fact that he now laid with one would be construed as ‘favouritism’.

And being that he was very, very much under the attention of the Mede Emperor, he should definitely have foreseen that it would not be pretty.

“ **And now, the Flight of the Barbarian Queen!”**

To be entirely fair, he had not ever considered that they’d field an elephant in a gladiator-match… certainly not against only one gladiator.

Behind him, the girl he had so graciously introduced to adult matters was crying. He thanked the gods she at least wasn’t screaming, because that would have been distracting. Of course, considering he was facing down an elephant…

Worse, he saw the look on the elephant-driver’s face; it was the kind that would have had him arrest the man and throw him into a deep part of the prison if he were still a guard.

“Oh gods...” He was going to drive the elephant against the girl first of all, wasn’t he? “I hate Medes so much...” Aside from Kamet… who was Setran, now that he thought about it. He groaned, clutching his sword in one hand. Oh, this would not go well for him at all. How does one fight an elephant in single-combat!? Especially if one does not want the girl behind him to be trampled.

His eyes widened in realization when he noticed that the elephant was dragging one leg. That certainly explained why the animal had ended up here instead of on a battle-field or something like that.

As if to compensate for the handicap, the head swung more in that direction.

“Oh no...” His king was rubbing off on him. He’d never live that one down, assuming if he even survived this. “Eugenides, God of Thieves… if I served your namesake well and if that has earned me some favour… Please, please, please let this work!”

It was a desperate plan, would probably even be desperate by human-Eugenides’ standards, but it was about the only way that would not result in him and the girl dead by elephant.

His leg screamed in pain when he jumped onto the tusk of the crippled side, using the upward swing to get high enough to attempt to grab at the driver. The man screamed when he instead of his beast was suddenly face to face with the gladiator, even as the elephant’s trunk wrapped around said gladiator’s middle. Clinging to the driver with one hand, the other – holding his sword – drove the naked iron as hard as he could in the animal’s neck.

Yes, it was indeed a desperate and completely idiotic idea. The trumpeting roar reverberated in his body and deafened him in equal measure. Rearing on its’ hind-legs, the grey beast teetered on the edge… and started falling. And because one side had a human hanging on it, of course it was that side.

Attolia’s Guard Captain felt something break in his arm when he landed on it, pain brightening the world to a new intensity. Gods, he was just not getting a break these days… not counting the bone-break right now.

Groaning, he struggled to his feet, everything hurting. “If I ever get near an altar of yours, I owe you one.” Clinging to his arm, clutching it to his chest, he turned to the fresh carcass. He owed the god a large one, that was for certain.

When he closed in, the driver fled as quickly as he could, terrified on the fuming Attolian. Letting go of his broken arm, he pulled at the embedded sword, adrenaline fuelling him.

“Attolia!” He had to be a bloodied mess, but by the gods, he was not going to let them insult her like this. He managed one step towards the imperial box before collapsing, legs folding like a baby’s underneath him. Whatever came next, it was very much worth it.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

“I wish we could have helped.” Eddis looked to the south, where Attolia was hidden beyond the horizon. She and Sounis had been forced to leave their fellow monarchs to see to their own lands – even if the country of Eddis was slowly emptying.

“Like how?” Her husband joined her at the window, gently wrapping her in his arms. Both were taking a short break at her castle before moving on to his. “We cannot return what they lost...” Gen his father, Irene her guard-captain… Gen and Helen a large part of their family… The dead could not be brought back to life.

“Still.” She swallowed, pressing herself against him. “You did not see Irene when we realized that Teleus was unaccounted for. The only time I saw her be worse was when she thought she’d lost Gen.” She pulled his arms closer around her. “It… it was like she lost her uncle, instead of just a guard-captain. He was _family_ almost...”

“We could not have staid.” Not so much because no one wanted that, but because both of them really needed to return to their own countries. They had delayed for nearly half a year already so that their child would be born in Attolia, under the watchful eyes of Galen and Petrus both.

As if hearing her father’s thoughts move to her, the babe in the crib in the corner started fusing with that slow build they were quickly learning meant she was about to start wailing at full volume… which was a lot.


	8. Chapter 8

Attolia took a deep breath, looking at the man across from her. At best, he looked like a pirate, being a grizzled boat-captain that had spend almost more time in his life on a boat-deck than on solid land.

“I live to serve, your Majesty.” About the only thing that hinted at his relation to the former Guard Captain was his voice, sounding painfully alike.

She hated asking it of him, but it was a brutal necessity. They might have won the war, but sooner or later the Empire would be back. They needed spies in it and they had to be certain of their loyalty.

It had been an idle musing that it would not be strange for traders to travel all over the Empire until a more proper network had been established… and so they had arrived at Teleus’ brother, a ship-based trader who would under no circumstances be tempted by the riches of the Mede Empire, since they had taken his last relative.

Which is how shortly – too shortly, perhaps – after informing him of his brother’s fate as he arrived in the capital, they were now asking him to pretend to set up a black-market trade-network in the Empire of goods neither side would openly purchase for a good while.

It hurt her to see how easily he agreed and to hear the words Teleus had so often spoken one last time.

“Attolia will be indebted to you.” She inclined her head lightly.

“It will be my honour.” He was even more severe than his brother, though if Teleus was a massive bear, his brother was a scarred lion. “I hope I will be able to serve as well as he did.”

“I have no doubt in the matter.” She dismissed him, briefly offering him to have a boy guide him to the rooms where most of his brother’s things were – Relius surely wouldn’t begrudge the brother some items – but he declined, instead taking his leave from the palace the moment he could.

At this rate, she might well be risking the loss of almost every good person in her country.

“He agreed?” Relius joined her a short while later, arms crossed. The sight of him looking almost more gaunt than he did after his stint in her prison hurt her.

“Yes.” She gestured to one of the other chairs. “I suppose he does not want to just sit idle after losing his brother.”

He sighed softly, gratefully accepting the glass of wine she offered him. “First the plague kills every other close family-member and now this.” Closing his eyes, his face turned into a grimace of pain.

“Painfully accurate.” She did know how he felt for a good part of her life as Attolia. She did feel like he might have it worse though. “I am sorry you couldn’t meet him.”

“I don’t think I could have managed.” Her former Spymaster admitted. “There is… too much alike between them.” Not to mention, he knew the most about the other man… and worst of all, they would inevitably reminisce about Teleus and he was nowhere near ready for that. He wrung his hands together before taking another drink.

“You don’t need to stay here.” It was an offer she had made several times already. He always turned it down, just as he did this time.

“I will endure, My Queen.” He managed to offer her a sincere – if slightly weak – smile. “It will just take some time.”

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

It was almost ominous, the way they were taking care of him. Teleus had broken more than his arm when he had fallen and it could well take him weeks until he was back on his feet again and yet the physicians were still treating him.

From what he had managed to gather between his poor Mede and raw pain, some of his ribs were cracked and one of his ankles had been twisted when he first landed on it.

And he just knew that this ‘peacefulness’ would not last. His subversion of the intended result of the match would not go unanswered by Ghasnuvidas. The girl definitely had been meant to die, perhaps even he himself. Instead, he had won and the elephant was dead. He definitely had not gotten his reward for a good match, not that he’d wanted one.

Outside of his cell, things seemed to go on as normal. He still saw other gladiators move past to and from the arena and he still heard the soft footfalls of the girls.

Coughing softly, he groaned at the pain of his ribs. Gods, perhaps he should have let the elephant win… though that seemed the opposite of what they intended for him. His prayer to Eugenides had been answered, because there was no way he would have been able to do it on his own. He simply was not the type to start performing acrobatics on anything, least of which elephants.

Someone decidedly divine was adamant he live… he could only hope it was one of the gods he followed and not some Mede God who wanted more suffering from him.

“Gods, give me strength.” Though he would not be able to tell strength for what exactly. He hoped it was something nice, something he could live with and not just a lifetime worth of captivity, humiliation and torture in the Mede Empire.


	9. Chapter 9

Despite repeated assurances that he would not leave her, Relius had left the city after a few days after all. Now that calm was being restored across the Peninsula, Pheris had to see to his duties as Baron Erondites. Grateful for an excuse to get out of the palace without the need to inevitably having to return come evening, Relius had promptly offered his company. Both as an advisor to the still rather untested youth and a reminder that this Baron Erondites carried the approval and support of Their Majesties.

It would prove to be a giant mess, that is for certain. Not only was he young with no clear regent, he was disabled and had spend all his time outside of the palace pretending said disability was also mentally.

“Enjoying the prospect of soon-to-be-politics?” He looked at the boy sitting across from him in the carriage the King had generously loaned them to ferry them to the main holdings of Erondites.

Said boy rolled his eyes and just sighed in answer.

“Yes, your uncle is being very inconsiderate to staying in Ferria instead of helping.” Mostly because Dite was enjoying himself too much in Ferria. He would probably come if Pheris actually asked, but he had not. On questioning, he stated that he didn’t want to drag him away so quickly after finding his place.

Relius suspected he didn’t want to have to talk about his other uncle Sejanus just yet. “Did you make a decision about who will be your regent, at least?”

“ _Probably my grandmother..._ _”_ Pheris shaped the words hesitantly. He’d like to think she would not mess up the region, but he practically didn’t know her. He knew she still lived and that she was a better person than his grandfather who had been Erondites, but that was it. He didn’t even really know how she looked! He assumed like his mother, but for all he knew she could look like a female version of Yorn Fordad.

“Baroness Eronditia would be one of the better choices, certainly at first, considering there are very few men who would be loyal to you right away.” Relius smiled gently. “We’ll have to see if there’d be a better one before returning to the capital. Perhaps you can somehow get the assistance of your grandfather who is Susa.”

“ _Yes._ _”_ Pheris looked outside where vast fields were passing them by. _“It’s been so long since I was here.”_ He had not back anywhere near his home since he had first been send to the capital… which had been almost two years ago.

“I can imagine.” Relius smoothed his cloak down. “Shall we see about getting your former nurse to attend you while we are here? What was her name again…? Melisande, yes?”

The young form nodded with a slight smile. It almost felt like a balm for his wounded heart, but it was just barely not enough to completely cover the hurt. Perhaps he should try with another lover again, though using someone just to distract him seemed needlessly cruel.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Just after a month, Teleus was finally visited by someone that was not a physician. Sitting up too fast for his head’s liking, the vision of the four Namreem swum in front of his eyes. This… was not going to good in any form and way.

He hissed in pain when they dragged him from his bed, giving no thought to his only mostly-healed injuries. In fact, there was the very real suspicion they intentionally shoved him onto his hurt arm when putting him in the prison-carriage. Oh yes, this would be a nightmare to endure. The only previous time he had been in a Medean prison-carriage had been on his arrival, when he had been first delivered to Ghasnuvidas and had suffered dearly for a good while. He still thanked the gods he had been dumped among the gladiators by the time word of the Peninsula’s victory had arrived in the Imperial capital… there had been no way he’d survive whatever tortures they would have subjected him to.

Taking a deep breath, Attolia’s Guard Captian steeled his nerves at the realization that this might well result in all those tortures he had once dodged. “Philia, have mercy on me and help me endure this.” He leaned his head against the closest wall of the carriage, cradling his sore arm. “Let me not dishonour my queen and king. Let me frustrate him just a bit longer.”

He did not ask for a gentle passing, simply because that was off the table so long it had been cleaned up days ago. All he could hope for was a dignified end, even if dignified meant ‘not begging for it within days’. It really was not the end he would have chosen for himself, but the Gods had decided it would be.

The only upside was that it wouldn’t be long until he was reunited with Relius… to learn that your lover was dead as you were being gift-wrapped to be send to the enemy emperor for bragging-rights.

Turning lightly, he peeked through a slit in the carriage-wall. The sounds of market filtered in, as did the smell of all the foods being sold. Gods, he could kill for the simple indulgence of a good meal… just one more evening in front of the fireplace with Relius, talking softly and being comfortable.

“Please, let me outlast him… keep his attention on me a bit longer… give them peace even if it means I suffer.” Tears ran down his cheeks. “Gods… have mercy on me, ferry me gently to the afterlife when it is my time, but let that time be long in the coming.”

Anything… he would give even his sanity if it meant some peace for his people. His hale hand pressed against his mouth, trying to keep the sob from escaping. Gods, have mercy on me...


	10. Chapter 10

She had a downright terrible time in life right now. She had been meant as a wife to Bu-seneth when he came back from adding the small Peninsula to the Empire… but he had not come back.

To make matters worse for trying to find a new spouse, one of her brothers had also died on the same campaign. So now all she could do was hope that the relation to the Emperor would outweigh that stain on her reputation enough to find her another husband before she became too old.

She frowned, fingers trailing over the strings of her instrument. The frown deepened when her practice of the new song was ruined by a scream from deeper in the palace. Gods, did her uncle have to bring his entertainment to the palace?

Nahita took a deep breath, putting aside the instrument. There was no way she could practice if her uncle was entertaining himself again.

 **“Mistress?”** The slave neatly seated beside the door looked up when hearing the wood strike wood.

 **“I want to take a walk.”** She muttered, gesturing to her shawl. The golden-chained girl rose up, neatly wrapping the shawl around her mistress’ head. **“There’ll be no practice with that in the background.”** As if in answer, there was another scream, though this time softer. Her uncle’s gift was failing by now, it seemed.

Gracefully walking through the women’s wing of the Imperial palace, she inadvertently ended up on the top walkway that circled the central courtyard. To ensure the privacy of the women of the imperial family, it was closed off by a small-holed trellis.

She tilted her head at another broken scream, stopping to look down. Her uncle had turned his gift from her former intended into a garden-decoration… It did make one wonder if he had considered that Attolians probably could not handle the Medean summer-heat. It certainly looked like it for the man chained between two poles. She snorted in disdain when they had to dump out a bucket of water over the prisoner’s head.

**“Mistress?”**

**“I can’t wait until he is gone, that is for certain.”** Shaking her head, she continued on her way. At least they hadn’t tortured him during the night yet, because she did not want to try and sleep through this mess. Perhaps she should see if she could visit one of her sisters for a bit, even if being seen unmarried at her age would be humiliating to the utmost degree. She could only hope her brother would find someone soon before she became really too old for marriage.

At least it was her embarrassing brother that had died, instead of the still-important one. If it had been Naheelid that had died, she could have counted herself lucky if they threw her into a temple as a servant. Now at least she could still hope for life as a priestess if no husband was found.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Were she the type to lucid dream, she’d be annoyed with having returned to a 4 year-old body, small and clumsy and most importantly utterly lost in a giant castle.

The hallways were utterly devoid of life, though there was no dust or anything. Searching for anyone to show her the way back to… wherever she wanted to be, her short legs carried through the luxurious hallways until she found a massive door that was still slightly open.

Hearing someone talking, she squeezed through the opening, only to bitterly regret it when seeing how full the room was with people that towered over her. She was – in fact – very certain that they were far taller than any other person she had ever met.

Luckily, none of them seemed to notice her, as they were too busy arguing with one another.

 **“We warned them thrice.”** A man snarled, the sound of a roaring storm underlying his words. **“They did not listen.”**

 **“We taught them thrice.”** A woman conceded, her hair fading into a star-studded darkness. **“They did not learn.”**

 **“Hubris.”** The little girl could not see who said that, but the word carried a lot of weight. The atmosphere – already poor – worsened drastically and those of the people she could see started looking enraged. She jumped nearly to the unnaturally high ceiling when someone touched her shoulder. None seemed to notice her near-scream.

 **“What are you doing here, little mortal?”** She was pretty certain the woman didn’t look like anything like the many statues of hers, but she could still recognize her. Shesmegah gently lead her out of the room, closing the door behind him. **“This is no place for you.”**

 **“What… who?”** She looked over her shoulder at the closed doors.

 **“Come now, little mortal.”** The Goddess chuckled. **“I am sure even you know.”**

 **“The Gods...”** The small mortal breathed. **“What… who are they talking about?”**

 **“Mhm...”** She lead the way through the hallways. **“Foolish little mortals who have forgotten to listen when gods warn them.”**

That… sounded suspiciously like a lot of myths she had learned. **“Oh?”** She blinked few times.

 **“Mercy is the greatest gift gods can give mortals.”** Shesmegah told her. **“But if mortals do not listen… well… My favour is a gift, not a right… You might do well to remember that as well, little mortal.”**

 **“I will.”** Not that she could have said anything else, considering she was speaking to a goddess… somehow.

 **“And another very important lesson… a little gift to a special girl...”** The luxurious dress rustled as the goddess crouched down to come eye-to-eye. **“Do not overreach.”**


	11. Chapter 11

Her waking had none of the grace it usually had as she nearly fell out of her bed.

“ **Mistress!?”** Her loyal slave was at her side in an instant. **“Are you alright?”**

“ **Yes.”** Nahine let the other woman help her onto the bed again and reached for the blankets that had tangled around her body. **“A dream… it was just a dream...”** But she knew for a fact that it was far more than a dream. One does not ignore somehow stumbling onto a _divine argument_. “ **I need to take a walk.** **”**

Since her uncle had divorced or executed all his wives and concubines, she was the only one currently living in the women’s wing of the imperial palace... aside from the small army of slaves solely devoted to the care of the residents.

“ **At once.”** She did really like the other girl, appreciating how they were on the same wavelength most of the time. She promptly returned with a heavier cloak which would hopefully keep her warm through the night-chill. **“Where to?”**

“ **The gardens.”** Perhaps seeing some of the rare night-flowers would calm her down.

“ **Ah...** **”** She followed, as was her duty, but in the privacy and silence of their rooms she did something few were allowed; she questioned. **“Mistress...”**

“ **Yes?** **”** Stranger still, her Mistress at least considered when she did.

“ **They…** **they say that his Majesty leaves the prisoner there.** **”** In other words, she could run into him.

“ **After this week, he’s no danger.** **”** She waved off the concern, conceding to herself there might also be simple curiosity in there. She had only briefly seen him the first time he arrived, when her uncle had invited her to see the gift her intended had send him.

He had been proud and fierce then, like a barely contained beast. She wondered how he was now… probably far less than on his arrival.

There were only some guards as they passed through the palace, which made sense when she looked up at the position of the moon; it was well past midnight where only the drunkest revellers would still be out.

Passing into the garden, she took a deep breath of the cool night-air. Where was the prisoner again? The last Medean princess tilted her head lightly, strolling down the pathways to where she thought they kept the Attolian.

She briefly stopped at the closer of the two poles, looking up at the mechanism that could easily adjust the position the prisoner was in. He was prone on the ground. From the looks of it, they had lowered him and he hadn’t had the strength to move himself into a more comfortable position.

“ **Help me up.”** She held out one hand and without question the slave helped her onto the platform. It was… quite frankly a mess. She was certain they did not clean up beyond emptying buckets of water over the Attolian whenever he fainted before they wanted him to.

She gestured at him and thanked the gods that the other just got her, reaching over the mess to poke the large form. He gave little reaction, merely groaning softly.

Looking for a place that would not ruin her shoes, she stepped closer, crouching down to have a closer look at him. He was… a mess, in the gentlest terms. The smell of blood and burned flesh clung to him.

The thought came to her unbidden and she wondered if one of the gods had shoved it into her brain; was this just? It was appropriate to torture a criminal as punishment or an enemy for information… but for the sake of torture? She was starting to figure out exactly which humans had enraged the gods so much in her dream, but as a woman she could hardly

“ **Get me some fruit.”** She looked over at the slave, who obediently left. She could see the sparkle of his eyes, but as to whether he realized that she was here was another question. Reaching out, she gently touched a cut on his cheek. Her eyes narrowed at the heat she felt. This was no longer the heat of the Medean sun, this was the heat of fever.

He murmured something, so soft it might well have been just a bare breath that escaped him.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

“Philia…?” He had not been certain if there even was anyone with him, but the cool finger on his cheek made him believe that something was there now.

He could no longer move and even in his fever-burned brain, he knew it’d soon be over for him.

The form he vaguely saw leaned in close, whispering something. He could not understand, though he thought it could be Mede.

He did feel the lips on his certainly and the fresh liquid that passed between them.

Echoing vaguely in his skull, the form spoke again, but he still couldn’t understand her. He did feel her sudden absence though, the cool fingers disappearing as the lights of a patrol appeared from the gloom beyond.

Not a goddess then… Goddesses usually don’t have to slip away physically.

“Or even worry about mortals.” These fingers were even cooler than the previous ones and had he the strength, he would be marvelling that this time he understood.

Instead, he only sighed in blessed relief as their cool seemed to spread over his body, even to his hands. He hadn’t felt those in a while...

“A word… you are needed still… do not offend the gods, Captain. Do your duty.”


	12. Chapter 12

“You… have got to be kidding me...” Costis threw a flat glare at the King sitting behind his desk. “Your Majesty.” He remembered to add before the break in his sentence became too obvious.

“Would I kid about something like this?” Attolis Eugenides gave him a vague smile.

“You do not want me to answer that.” Costis answered with a sigh. “With all due respect, My King, but I am nowhere ready to be _Captain of the Guard._ If not for… the incident, I would barely have been considered as Lieutenant by now.”

“Costis, you and I both know how loved Teleus… was.” Eugenides put aside the letter he had been writing and rose from his seat to walk over to the window. “Especially now that the Guard can finally be halved, we need someone that people don’t mind being fired by… well, fired in a way.”

“And the untested, nowhere-near-ready Lieutenant is going to be that person now?” The guard resisted the urge to facepalm.

“Is Enkelis a good choice?” The King muttered. “Are any of the other Lieutenants good choices?” He snorted softly. “I… we don’t need the one with the most experience, we need the one that is the closest to being the heart of the guard, now that Teleus is gone. And that is very much you.”

“How?”

“Well, now that is your secret, isn’t it?” Eugenides chuckled. “Costis, there is very few people we can trust with things like this, that list having grown even less after the war…” With that, Costis could agree. The Peninsula had suffered grievous losses during the war. For a time after Teleus’ loss, people had speculated that when Eddis emptied, they’d have the King’s father become the Captain of the Guard. But then he too had died. Who did they have left that knew the workings of a guard?

He slumped a bit. “I hope I can live up to the expectations Your Majesties have of me.”

“My dear Costis, you have lived up to every expectation ever – even if it took far longer than I had planned for you to punch me – so I am certain you will do well enough.” Eugenides, King of Attolia and Annux over the entire Peninsula, reached up to slap his shoulder. “I am sure you can convince Kamet to assist you with the paperwork… or deputy someone you don’t like. Just make sure that if you use Kamet, it doesn’t give him the impression you don’t like him. I would not want him to think you two are breaking up.”

“Thank you, my King.” He did not quite manage to stop the chuckle at that statement. “I am sure I will manage somehow.”

“Good.” The slighter male’s mouth-corner moved upward lightly. “Our Queen will make the official announcement tomorrow, so take the rest of the day off to mentally prepare...”

“My King?” That sounded highly ominous. The last time he heard something like that, he had been send to the Mede Empire to steal a slave from Nahuseresh. “Are… you planning something?”

“Of course not.” He snorted softly. “Just looking forward to how you handle all the paperwork.”

“Am I allowed to punch you again, Your Majesty?”

“No.”

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

She returned to tend him every night after that dream, though what exactly she was hoping to do with it she couldn’t tell anyone, were they to ask.

The Attolian endured for far longer than anyone would expect of him, refusing to die under her uncle’s ministrations. From what she could see of the Emperor, the prisoner might somehow well survive him.

“ **Melheret’s son?** **”** She echoed her brother. **“I am to marry his son?”**

“ **We are somewhat running out of unmarried men of high enough standing.** **”** Naheelid answered, frowning out of the window from where he sat across from her. The attack – and subsequent annexation – of the Hephestian Peninsula had been intended to be the great kick-off point of his rule… instead, it would be the painful and embarrassing start of it.

“ **As my brother commands.** **”** She inclined her head, accepting her role in her family. Behind her, her personal slave was kneeling on the bare ground. **“May I ask if anything has been planned?”**

“ **We are still in talks.** **”** He looked over at her now, which was a great show of care from his end. **“But I wanted you to be at ease that you are not** **wa** **st** **ed** **.”**

“ **My brother is too kind.** **”** She bowed deeper this time, smiling lightly. **“I will await his word.”**

“ **Brother?”** She might have been a bit too forward when she spoke up on her own, but he seemed not to mind.

“ **Yes?”**

“ **May I ask… what will be done with the Attolian?”** She pulled her wrap around her tighter. **“** **Is he to die in the garden?** **”**

“ **No.** **”** He sighed. **“He’ll be killed in the funeral games for our honourable uncle… it’ll be a far better gift to Attolia than losing him privately.”**

Vindictive still… and she felt that it was far too much, but did not say anything. It was not her place to give her opinion unasked to her brother. He took his leave shortly afterwards, having an Empire to run as their uncle had started ailing too much to do so.

“ **Shesmegah, have mercy on us.** **”** She could only hope that her brother would endure the turmoil of taking the throne… and that she would survive it. At the slightest hint, nobles would be executed if they seemed like a threat to the throne. Until his wife or concubines finally gave him a child, her spouse would be de facto heir, since their only male sibling had died. He would have to play a very careful game of being interested and yet not.


	13. Chapter 13

“Ghasnuvidas is ailing noticeably now.” Irene mused, reading some of the first reports her spies were delivering from the Mede Empire. Even in the outlying cities where they had made stops or set up, people were starting to whisper about the Emperor’s poor health.

Considering how tightly the Medes controlled information, he probably was already in the grave with one foot. It almost made her vengefully happy. Politically it was also good news, since it meant that soon the Empire would be too busy with settling their new ruler to consider another assault upon the Hephestian Peninsula. With the previous defeat, they could hope that Naheelid’s rise to power would be a rocky one at best.

“We will have to hope his heir isn’t stupid enough to try and shore up his wobbly succession by winning a war.” Eugenides was already on her bed, arms crossed under his head while looking at her. “History has shown that to be a precedent.”

“I’ll throw you at him if he tries.” She chuckled softly. “He’d be closer than the Pentian King, no?”

“So, so, so.” He chuckled as well, rolling over without breaking eye contact. “I thought I am indispensable and must be kept safe?”

“You survived getting blown up… a Mede castle in turmoil would be nothing.” Putting aside the reports, she crossed the room to stand beside him, reaching down to card her fingers through his hair. “The Continent fears you after that threat you made to Yorn Fordad. It is only right the Mede Empire should learn to fear you just as much.”

“Ah… my vengeful queen.” He closed his hand around her wrist. “There is the terrifying Attolia I married.”

She sat down beside him, smiling warmly down on her husband. “Worried you would have to carry the full weight of terrifying people now?”

“Perhaps...” A laugh bubbled forth from his chest, shaking the bed.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

There was still a stain of blood on the stones in the garden, she could see it even from the high women’s walkway. The prisoner had been removed so that he could be treated and recover enough to actually stand on his feet by the time that Ghasnuvidas would succumb to his sickness. It was after all necessary that he could at least do that, which would still be something of a miracle if her uncle would continue deteriorating as quickly as he had been these last few days.

“ **Mistress?** **”** The slave stood her obedient few paces aside, eyes demurely downcast as she spoke without having been spoken to.

“ **Yes?”**

“ **Mistress has an appointment in a bit. If she wishes to fresh up beforehand...** **”** Nahine threw one last look down into the gardens at that statement before turning to return to her quarters. For her brother’s coronation-gift she had decided to make him a whole outfit, fit for the elaborate feasts of their court. But she could not leave the palace without a family-member to escort her and since her only family-member capable of doing so was he himself, she had to resort to summoning traders into the palace for the necessary materials.

Today there would be two traders for embroidery-thread and other decorative objects she could put on the robe when she finished sewing it together.

“ **Afterwards, go see how the Attolian is doing.** **”** She looked at her slave while changing her outfit into something more appropriate for guests, even if those risked death if their eyes so much as strayed anywhere near her. It was the principle of the matter. She just had to hope that the mercy she was showing the Attolian – even if done for purely selfish reasons – would be enough to keep her somewhat safe if and more likely when the wrath of the Gods truly broke over her family. But considering there would be a rather large fallout, she probably was not really doing anything that’d save her.

“ **As you command.** **”** If anything, what she was doing would just get her in trouble with her own family if they found out. Her uncle had very clearly intended to slowly torture the Attolian Captain to death, but her sneaky night-time care had allowed him to endure and survive. The moment one of them realized this, she might well be executed as a traitor.

But she had learned well to keep her emotions in check, so for now it seemed neither of them were anywhere close to that and now that Ghasnuvidas was practically on his deathbed, both were far too busy with other matters.

The matter of their prisoner slipped from her mind once the traders arrived and she spend most of the day fully focused on her project until her slave returned from wherever the prisoner had been brought – she didn’t ask how the golden-chained woman had managed to find him without raising suspicions – and informed her that he was currently fighting off some infection, from what the physician had told her.

“ **He will not make the games, will he?** **”** The only full sister of the future emperor groaned softly into her wrap. Gods have mercy on her…

She didn’t ask for him, since that might well be succumbing to the infection and dying before he had to participate in the games, which would infuriate her family and probably make an even worse mess of things.


	14. Chapter 14

It all began with a murder. Outside the city walls of Ianna-Ir were slums, houses of those low-born that had come to the capital of the Empire in search of fortune and had only found destitution.

The murder was one that happened with such regularity as to almost be considered mundane. As such, later no one would be able to tell why this particular one had ignited a power-keg. The victim was a slum-woman, the type that would do anything for some coin. In the slums, the laws of the Empire were rarely obeyed and her murderer died to a brutal mob of her family and neighbours before she had even breathed her last.

Then the family of the man retaliated and burned down the shack of the woman… within the hour, several more were on fire, the clustered ‘buildings’ being so close to one another that if one burned, most in a large radius did. This too was an almost regular occurrence, happening at least once every two or three years.

But it had been a dry year and the fire spread far further than it normally did. No slum-fire would ever threaten the city itself, protected as it was by its’ high walls.

Over half the slum-population was a different matter however. They fled the inferno, those that could fleeing into the surrounding lands. Most aimed for the city-gates, too afraid of the fire to think rationally. The guards at the gates were overwhelmed, sometimes literally, and thousands poured into the well-kept streets of Ianna-Ir proper.

Shesmegah showed no mercy, driving the mob into the district just beside the noble-quarter and the Imperial palace. Guards and Namreen alike barred them entry, cutting those that did not turn from the sight of naked steel.

Later rumours would say that in some streets there were so many corpses that they formed blockades across their entire width.

So instead, they turned to the rest of the city, looting and burning as they went.

The city-guard was overwhelmed and the Namreem held the line around the parts of the city held mostly by nobles It would be a significant mistake. What started as a minor problem, spiralled out of control when it became clear that the common people living in the city joined in, partly to defend their own properties or to improve their own lots in life. Having send a large part of his armies to their deaths, either on the Peninsula or to the far south, Ghasnuvidas and his family found themselves losing control of their capital.

Things became worse the next day when the mob turned from the commoner-districts to the noble-district. By now, most of those had fled as best they could, leaving most of their riches in the capital.

The Namreen fell back to the palace itself, leaving heaps of corpses there where they had briefly been overtaken by the mob.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

“ **Your** **H** **ighness!** **”** Naheelid nearly throttled the man who stormed into his office like it was free access. He had enough trouble with the people outside the palace to want to deal with disobedient servants inside it.

“ **What?** **”** His secretary took the word out of his mouth. **“How dare you just enter unbidden!?”**

“ **Forgive me, your Highness.** **”** It was a lower-ranked palace-guard, almost trembling under the royal glare. **“The** **C** **aptain send me; the mob has breached the palace walls!”**

“ **Pardon!?** **”** The heir to the Empire shot up from his seat.

“ **They managed to climb the corridor-wall, your Highness. The Captain begs your pardon, but you and His Majesty must leave at once.** **”** He rushed to the window that overlooked that part of the palace, paling a bit at seeing the people in the outer gardens.

“ **Has someone been send to the Emperor?”** He pulled himself away from the view, turning to the guard even as his secretary rushed around the room to gather the most important items.

“ **A squad, your Highness.** **”** He assured him. Well, that was something at least.

He was certainly relieved that his wife was on one of their outer estates, rather than the now endangered women’s wing of the palace, which was closest to the part of the wall they had long ago been dubbed ‘corridor-wall’.

His heart stopped at that realization. **“My sister. Has my sister been retrieved?”**

The guard’s face told him enough; they had not send anyone, at least before he had been send running to the Heir.

“ **Send someone at once!”** Naheelid almost roared it, his heart clenching at the thought that the commoners would get to her first. The guard was wise enough to obey him, rushing from the room as his secretary gathered the last few things. He had no choice but to leave it at that, having to hope that they got to the young woman before the riot managed to get into the palace itself. He had already lost his younger brother and was not entirely sure he wanted to lose his last sibling, female though she might be.

Within the hour, the Imperial family fled the palace and even the capital for one of their outlying estates, escorted by most of the Namreen while only some remained behind to cover their escape.

By the next day, Ghasnuvidas had died and no one was entirely sure if it was the frantic ride in his frail condition or the shame and humiliation of being driven to flight from his palace by slum-inhabitants.

Naheelid’s rise to the Imperial throne was no longer merely slightly shameful with a defeat against a collection of barbarians, but downright humiliating with the loss of the Imperial capital.


	15. Chapter 15

He looked up in horror at the thick clouds rising over the rooftops. Well, that would be good news for Attolia… if he managed to get out of here on time. At the moment the City Guard was still managing a perimeter of some kind around the harbour, mostly for the richer trader’s and the few nobles that had taken along too much for the quick getaway on the road.

“Boss?” His own ship was a small one, meant for coastal trade, so it had only 5 crew – himself included. As such, the moment someone would try to rob him, he’d have to let them.

“Boss?” His Second repeated, a bit louder now. “We got to go.” The man was the only non-Attolian on his crew, bright-blue eyes looking near terrified. “The city is on fire… the damn palace is on fire.”

“So it is.” They couldn’t see the Imperial palace of Ianna-Ir from the harbour, but the panicked sounds from around them made it painfully clear that that was what was burning. After Naheelid and the rest of the Imperial family had fled it had taken the people perhaps a day to take complete control of the palace. And now it was – at least partially – on fire. “Is everything on ship?”

“Everything but us.” The Pent looked up in doubt at the city.

They were still stuck though, since the few Nobles left in the harbour had no compunction about crashing into smaller ships that got in their way to get out. Looking out over the water, he could see at least two remnants of others that had learned that particular titbit personally.

“We’ll wait until the worst of those is gone.” He gestured to the large ships, most claimed from a larger trader by fleeing nobles. That was another upside as a ‘black-market trader’; no one would bother with taking his small vessel. “I do want to get out of here without losing the ship.”

“Because otherwise we do not get out of here.” The Second left the man at the bottom of the gangway to check on their crew. They had arrived a mere day before things had gone downhill, so they actually still had most of their intended merchandise. He had to be grateful that it were mostly Attolian olives in their own oil, meaning it’d be good for a good while.

He flinched when another ship-crash happened, one of the last large ships smashing a smaller one against one of the stone docks. At this rate, they might well not get through the wreckage.

“Gods, I should have stuck to the outer cities...” He crossed his arms, glaring at a small male that looked like he wanted to sneak on board. That had been happening ever since the fire and he was getting quite tired of it.

“Sir…?” That voice was new though; a soft female’s voice with a heavy Mede-accent, though understandably Attolian. He turned to look at her, noting that she was hiding under something that looked like an old blanket like it was a shawl.

“Yes?” He towered over her and as such could see the expensive silk and jewellery hiding under the blanket-shawl. A noble trying to leave the city… had she been abandoned by her family or had they been overtaken by the mob?

She hesitated there, eyes flicking to the ship behind him. He was pretty certain what she wanted; a way out of the city. She was not the first and probably would not be the last.

“You still need to shave, lion-boy.”

That he had not been expecting. His heart clenched at a sentence he had heard regularly once his facial hair had started growing in. It was a sentence only one person would know after the plague had wiped out their family.

“Rogan!” He called out sharply to the first member of his crew he saw. “Watch the plank!” The old man looked at him in surprise, but did move over.

“Where?” He snarled it at her and she did recoil at the sound of his voice. If she was a Medean noble, the sharp sound of a native Attolian had to sound very disturbing. He had noticed it quite a bit whenever he did business in the outer cities.

She did steel herself, withdrawing to a part of the harbour that was the closest one could get slum-like in the city proper. It probably was too dangerous, but he had to know for certain.

The disguised female lead the way to a small group including several large forms. That should have send him back to the boat, but he spotted something familiar. Someone familiar…

The group had clustered around the two largest forms, two men where one was supporting the other. The supported form was trembling, really needing the other person to stay upright.

“Brother...” He barely managed to get it out. They had told him the other was dead, but apparently not. Gods, he had not expected to ever see this sight again. “How…?”

Almost a year after everyone had believed he died, Teleus finally was revealed. “Brother...” The former Captain of Attolia’s Guard reached for the older man, trembling and clinging to consciousness, from what he could tell.

Instinct made him reach for the younger Attolian, supporting him as well. “I am here...”

“Gods...” The younger man hung heavier on his shoulder. “Take me home… please.”


	16. Chapter 16

Now he did have them set sail. He did not know how his brother had come free – he could very much imagine how he got here to begin with – but he was not about to risk someone realizing he had escaped, however unlikely it might be.

Considering most of the large ships had left, they managed to slip out of the harbour.

His crew was somewhat dubious about that choice, but they obediently set off after he had gotten the group on board. His ship had something of a hold, though everyone aside from a child had to at the very least crouch.

Leaving his Second to take the ship down the river once they left the city behind, ducking below-decks. The group with his brother included one other man, a massive scarred man, and six women. One of them looked like a warrior, two were the noble and what looked like her slave and three more commoner women, one of whom looked somewhat like the only man.

They had put his brother on one of the carpets he had bought for his black-market-scheme. It probably would be ruined after this.

“ **What happened to him?”** Unlike his brother, he had kept up far more with his Mede. Considering their occupation even before it became ‘spy’, between him and the members of his crew, there was no language around the Middle Sea they did not at least vaguely speak.

The two warriors had put themselves at the front of the group, shielding the others from him. Did they speak Attolian and know what had been said or were they just hoping it would work out better than staying?

“ **He was a Mede prisoner.”** The noble answered him, keeping her ‘shawl’ between him and her face. **“And gladiator for a while, where he... befriended these people. When the fires reached the arena, they managed to escape and they happened across me… graciously saving me from a mob.”**

“ **Gladiator?”** He sharply demanded, disbelief obvious. He had only seen a few gladiator-matches, most of them on the Greater Peninsula, but that was not how gladiators ever looked after a match. That was how torture-victims looked.

“ **He was gone for a while.”** One of the common women stated softly. **“He came back like this.”**

H e glowered at that, moving past the two warriors to sink down beside his little brother. Teleus had fainted – or falling asleep, but it was probably fainted – after they managed to get on board, with the slave using her legs as a pillow to him.

Taking a deep breath, he looked at the noble.  **“You know who he is, don’t you?”** The rest certainly didn’t seem so. To them, he was just an unfortunate  gladiator that had ended up in deep trouble to end up in the state he was now.

“ **Yes.”** She inclined her head, looking up at the wooden ceiling above them. **“Can we trust your crew?”**

“ **That depends on me, I’d say.”** He narrowed his eyes. **“He is my brother, and therefore my priority. My crew obeys me, so if I tell them to shut, they will.”**

I t was perhaps not the best way to phrase it, but he could tell the others did calm down at that assurance. Apparently they indeed did not know any Attolian and so had had no idea why he’d helped them.

“ **I am Ghasnuvidas’ niece.”** She apparently had decided to just trust in her gods, revealing that so openly. Though not enough trust that she’d say it in the language she was sure all of his crew spoke.

Her slave squeaked at the look on his face. 

“ **You are aware that with matters as they are, I am heading for Attolia directly?”** Or at least, as directly as he could with his ship. It would be too dangerous to take the direct crossing across the Middle Sea. **“And you are coming along?”**

“ **I entrust myself to Attolia.”** Her eyes crinkled a bit behind her make-shift shawl, shining with sadness even in the gloom of the closed hold. He answered her with a sharp nod, before making his way outside again.

“Boss?” His Second was waiting up top. Though he was mostly their translator for the Pentish dialects, he knew some Mede as well.

“Yes?” He headed over to the bow of the ship, looking ahead of them down the river. 

“I heard… that name?” There were ships nearby still, even though they were managing to quickly pass the larger ships that had to stay in the deepest parts of the river.

“Yes. We are getting out of here, before the entire darn country is on fire.” Conatus looked around them, before bringing his face close to that of his Second. His beard would hide his lips from any attempt at lip-reading. “That is my brother down there. We _must_ get him back to Attolia.”

“Oh Gods...” The Pent paled a touch. 

“You see my urgency?” He pulled back again, looking up at their sail. Blessedly, it seemed to be full from wind coming from upriver, allowing them a good speed. “And not just because of our connection.”

“Yes.” He ducked away, heading for the stern of the ship, only briefly looking down into the open hold.


	17. Chapter 17

C onatus was not the only trader who was spying for Attolia. There was another, larger one; this trader was a  more cautious one, who had remained in the delta instead of passing up the river to the capital.

So when the rumours of the revolt reached him, he turned tail immediately. His slightly larger ship could risk a direct crossing of the Middle Sea, as long as the weather worked with him. After making a sacrifice to the gods,  he risked it and as such arrived in Attolia a few short days after news first reached  the outer reaches of the Empire .  He would be the first of the spies to inform the Peninsula of the happenings beyond the Sea.

At that point, Conatus himself was just passing past Hemsha. Teleus had not woken again, which was concerning, but he could not dare try to find a physician in the Mede Empire itself. There would always be the risk that someone would recognize  an ‘Attolian gladiator’… he doubted they’d be able to get the Imperial family on their heads, but it’d be too much risk. 

As such, despite worry clenching his heart, he sailed on  until they reached Zaboar, where he made a stop at the first settlement that looked large enough  to have one.

Predictably, they had been preceded by other refugees  and the locals were not looking forward to more of that drama. Considering he had not managed to sell much of his merchandise, he couldn’t exactly throw gold at them until they did.

“ **Trouble?”** Having anchored off the coast – he did not trust these uncontrolled wild lands – the Medes on his ship risked going up top to stretch their legs.

“ **Yes.”** He sighed, climbing aboard from the small one-person dinghy the settlement had loaned him to cross the distance without swimming. They trusted him with a little boat, but not the time of their physician… **“They have had trouble with refugees three times already. So now they are just done with them.”**

“ **They came over with a boat when you signalled, though…?”** Nahine murmured, looked out over the water to the collection of houses that made up the settlement.

“ **They were hoping for some of their kin that still have to return from the Empire. Which I do not have.”** The large Attolian muttered darkly, tugging on some of his beard. **“And I cannot keep ignoring my brother’s state much longer. He won’t make the next settlement with a physician. The learned skills of my crew do not help that much in the long run.”**

“ **He is getting worse.”** She admitted in agreement. 

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

“You are certain?” Attolia looked down from her throne at the trader that had arrived and requested a meeting immediately.

“Yes, Your Majesty. Refugees were pouring out of the capital and reaching Hylas when I left.” The man looked up nervously. “There were even rumours that the Imperial family had to flee the city as well, but I cannot confirm that.”

She looked at her husband at that statement, eyes widened ever so slightly. To think that something like this would happen so soon.

“Thank you.” She turned to the trader, dismissing him with promises of a reward. “Someone summon Kamet, please.” Looking at one of the few guards left in the room, she tilted her head when Attolis rose from his seat.

“Losing control of his capital… Ghasnuvidas has to be fuming right now.” He flexed his fingers, before turning to Costis. “Send quick messengers to Eddis and Sounis, the fastest we have.”

“At once, My King.” The Captain of their guard left the room through the door at the back, knowing exactly why the messenger had to leave post-haste. Sooner or later, the reverberations of whatever was happening in the Empire would reach them, so it was imperative that they had decided what to do before then. 

“Embarrasing…” Irene mused, remaining seated as her King sitting down again and leaning back. It felt interesting that she could note the tightness of his muscles. “Well, they certainly will be too busy for a good while to come back, as we thought.”

“A good while.” Gen agreed, crossing his arms lightly. “He is going to lose provinces as well, no doubt. The revolt will certainly spread if the Capital has been compromised to the degree that they had to flee themselves.”

“You summoned me?” Kamet slipped through the door, looking in doubt at the near-empty room.

“Yes...” She beckoned him closer. “We’d like your insight about the Empire, if you can offer some.”

“Oh?” The Setran scribe approached. “Did something happen?”

“Very much. One of our spies has returned, and others soon will follow, no doubt; the Capital has fallen to a revolt. Potentially even to the point that the Imperial family had to flee it, but that is currently unconfirmed.” 


End file.
